Evasive Procedures
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: A classic closet mishap, but with an unexpected guest. SLASH Marcus/Harry


A/N: IMPORTANT: I am going out of town Thursday and will be back on the 24th. So…there ought to be zero updates until then.

**Evasive Procedures**

Harry sprinted down the hall, book bag banging into his thigh. He skidded around a corner and cast his eyes about for a hiding place. The clatter of someone in heels rang through the air, and he dove into a broom closet just in time. Rita Skeeter stopped just outside the door, looking around in confusion. There was a faint clicking sound that escaped his notice. He held his breath, praying that she wouldn't think to look in the closet.

The gods didn't hear him, and she reached out to turn the handle. He winced, squeezing his eyes shut, since there was no way he could bluff his way out of very obviously running away from her. The door rattled as she shook the handle, trying to get it open.

He raised his eyebrows, and then cautiously tried his side. It wouldn't open from the inside either. It was locked!

She came to the same conclusion and continued down the hall. It didn't occur to him that he should've asked her to go get help. He tried the door again, one last time, and it still refused to open. He moaned and banged his forehead against it. This was better than being stalked all weekend by that crazed alligator-loving woman, but not by much.

Someone cleared their throat from the darkness behind him, and he screeched, jumping a foot in the air. A rumbly laugh followed this, and Harry's flesh crawled in both fear and…pleasure? In defense of his flesh, it was a very nice laugh. He dug his hand into his book bag for his wand, and then remembered with a sickening jolt that he'd left it back in the dormitory by mistake.

"Um, who's there?" he hated how timid he sounded, but there wasn't much he could do about that. He was going through puberty, and the last thing his voice box wanted to do was show him some respect. It cracked all day every day.

The figure didn't answer, but came out of the shadows to stand in the shaky lighting filtering through the sides and bottom of the door. Harry took an involuntary step back when he recognized him as Marcus Flint, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and all around asshole to every decent person. Well, from what Harry had observed, he was also a prick to people in his house, so maybe he was just a mean person.

While his thoughts were wandering, Flint leaned idly against the wall, a bare foot across from Harry. Once Harry noticed this, he tried to put more distance between them, but his back met the wall. Flint sauntered still closer. Harry squeaked, but instead of pummeling his face into a pulp, Flint merely asked,

"So, who were _you _running from?"

"What?" Harry snapped back to attention, absently noticing that his palms were sweaty and that he was beginning to feel a bit odd in the crotch area. Were his hormones trying to get him killed?

"I said, who are you running from? I hid in here to get away from Carlotta."

"The 3rd year Hufflepuff?" Harry asked with a frown, ignoring his previous question.

Flint nodded gravely, "That girl is a terror. For some reason, she's taken it into her head to fancy me. The door locked behind me, then you came, and here we are. So, who made you hide here?"

"A reporter," Harry answered, moving to sit on the floor with a little sigh. Raising his knees would hide any signs of his body's hormonal reaction to his proximity to another person. He wasn't sure why he chose to get a hard-on now of all times, though his subconscious hinted that it had something to do with the way he used to admire Flint's numerous muscles. He could put amateur bodybuilders to shame with those biceps…not to mention his thighs…

Harry quickly derailed that train of thought before he turned into a raging pervert and folded his hands in his lap, trying to maintain the image of dignity.

Flint slid down to sit across from him, mimicking his position. Because his legs were much longer and there wasn't a whole lot of space to begin with, their shins ended up tightly pressed together before he changed position and spread Harry's knees with his own. Harry turned scarlet and tried not to focus on the fact that his legs were spread so wide his hips were starting to ache.

It was dark, thank goodness.

Flint shifted restlessly, and Harry tried to retreat but there was nowhere to retreat to. Because of this, his knees ended up bumping against the bottom of Harry's thighs. Harry didn't know what to do about this, so he tried to ignore it. Was he supposed to ignore this? Was there anything to ignore? Flint leaned back against the wall and lit a Muggle cigarette, much to Harry's surprise.

They were quiet, and then Flint flexed one of his legs, and his heel somehow ended up against Harry's crotch. He made a terrified sound that somehow wasn't as terrified as he'd thought. In fact, it sounded a lot more like a moan.

The faint lighting revealed a sly, sloe-eyed look on Flint's face. Harry realized that he'd never appreciated Flint's grotesque brand of beauty before. Despite his unfortunate teeth and menacingly defined jaw, there was something alluring about how full his lips were and the devilish glint in his eye. Harry squirmed, cursing his libido.

His foot followed him, and Harry started. Meeting his eyes, he saw Flint raise an eyebrow at him.

"Uh…"

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

He avoided his eyes until Flint suddenly stood, crossed the closet, and sank down beside him. Wedged between the door and Flint's firm shoulder, there was no where to go. He could smell his cologne and the nicotine smoke from his cigarette. Flint leaned down and nudged his nose against his ears, bizarrely enough, and made a humming noise.

"F-Flint?"

"Oh, don't mind me. You just smell nice."

And so they sat, with Flint occasionally sniffing him and Harry trying not to enjoy being sniffed.

When the closet finally burst open through some freakish act of magic, Harry was too busy being snogged to notice.

~000~

End Evasive Procedures

Um…I wanted to write an odd Marcus/Harry, and so I did.


End file.
